


Of Human Bondage (or Five Times Adam and His Friends Found Themselves All Tied Up)

by thisbluespirit



Category: Adam Adamant Lives!
Genre: 1960s, 5 Times, Bondage, Gen, Hijinks & Shenanigans, Humor, Victorian, Yuletide Treat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-20
Updated: 2017-12-20
Packaged: 2019-02-17 14:20:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,486
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13078686
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thisbluespirit/pseuds/thisbluespirit
Summary: In Adam’s line of work, getting tied up is practically a daily occurrence.





	Of Human Bondage (or Five Times Adam and His Friends Found Themselves All Tied Up)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Aris Merquoni (ArisTGD)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArisTGD/gifts).



**One**

Adam did not, as a rule, talk of his cases to Louise. Such work as his was not for the delicate ears of a lady. However, he did, on this one occasion venture so far as to mention (in relation to having to regretfully decline an invitation) that he would be visiting the small hamlet of Leigh Green in Kent on the following day. After all, it could do no possible harm. He could trust his dear Louise implicitly.

 

His elusive nemesis, however, seemed to be one move ahead of him again. Adam, chained up in the underground dungeon Mr Goodley had seen fit to build beneath his otherwise charming establishment, pondered how and why as he worked on getting free.

He was almost beginning to despair when a guard arrived with dinner. It was the work of a moment to trip him and stun him; the work of considerably more than a moment to find a way to reach the keys the man had dropped as Adam was still inconveniently chained to the wall, but he was never less than determined – as Mr Goodley himself found out shortly. But, as Adam reflected afterwards, the late, unlamented Mr Goodley really should have known better than to start murdering government officials. What would the nation come to if such treacherous rogues were not ruthlessly rooted out?

 

But Adam, usually so clever, failed to ask exactly why his Louise was quite _so_ surprised to see him on his return.

~o~

**Two**

Behind the curtain, on the stage of the otherwise deserted theatre in the autumn of 1894, two gentlemen in impeccable evening dress were sitting, tied back to back, and not for reasons of the entertainment of the public.

“I hate to trouble you,” said the one who was not seemingly intent on wriggling out of his bonds as if his reputation as an escape artist was at stake, “but I do believe Mr Bracknell is moving above us with what I can only imagine to be sinister intent.”

A sandbag hit the stage nearby, causing them both to inadvertently jump.

“You have a point,” Adam said, even as he pulled one hand free and leapt to his feet. He squinted up into the darkness, pulled something out of the props box and with, unerring aim, hurled it upward.

Moments later, Mr Bracknell thudded onto the boards beside the sandbag. A cricket ball landed next to him and bounced off down into the orchestra pit.

“The man was deranged,” said Adam. “Completely deranged! Such jealousy! And possessed of overwhelming conceit if he believed that to remove you, my dear Oscar, would make him the greatest playwright of the age. Little short of a miracle would do that. I saw some of his work! I shudder at the memory – the man could barely even punctuate.”

“Indeed.”

Adam knelt down to untie his friend. “I cannot apologise enough for this fiasco. If I had any idea that Miss Harrington had allowed herself – no doubt his unwitting dupe, poor child – to be used as his agent, I should never have brought you back here.”

“Oh, after a good dinner one can forgive anybody, even one's own relations,” said Oscar. “And that _was_ an excellent meal.”

“Even Mr Bracknell?”

Oscar dusted himself down with a smile. “Always forgive your enemies; nothing annoys them so much!”

“A charming sentiment,” said Adam, “and one that does you credit, but in practice I find the world is better off without such villains. You can hardly think well of Mr Bracknell, I feel sure?”

“His hatred was, however, exquisite flattery. I may have to find my own method of repaying him.”

“Perhaps,” Adam said, but he went to retrieve his sword stick. “Nevertheless, I trust that you don’t feel any the worse for this unpleasant encounter?”

“I’ve had worse nights out,” said Oscar.

~o~

**Three**

“Oh, Mr Adamant, thank goodness!” said Miss Jones, spotting him as he dashed up the stairs from the basement level, stopping in surprise to see her there – and, what was more, Simms. 

Adam bit back a sigh of annoyance. He had expressively forbidden her to follow him or try to get a seasonal job at the store. It now transpired that she had seen fit to ignore him – as usual. She and Simms were firmly bound to two of the trees in Santa’s Grotto at Harrods, tinsel wound round and round them. However, when Adam started to try and free Georgie, she protested, inclining her head towards Santa’s sleigh and trying to push him away.

“Quickly!” she gasped. “That big red parcel has a bomb in it and there’s not much time left!”

Adam dropped the tinsel instantly and raced over to examine the parcel. He then set about making an attempt to disarm it, although at that Georgie tugged at her festive bonds again, demanding to know if he was sure he was up to date on defusing explosive devices. “Because,” she said, “otherwise I’m not sure that’s the best idea!”

Adam wasn’t entirely certain about that himself, but he suspected that, even so, he was more knowledgeable on the subject than either Miss Jones or Simms. Having removed as much of the wrapping paper and ribbons as he dared, he studied it closely, eventually deciding on a wire and severing it with his swordstick.

Harrods, Santa’s Grotto, and the three of them failed to explode, so he assumed he had been able to extrapolate correctly. He wiped his forehead with his handkerchief, this one having been a little close even by his standards.

“Oh, well _done_ , Mr Adamant!” said Georgie. “Now can you get us both out of here? I like a bit of tinsel, but this is ridiculous.”

Simms coughed. “You may wonder, sir, why we are here and not back at the house, despite your explicit instructions. Or why Miss Jones is currently dressed as one of Santa’s little helpers, a gross misuse of the term, if you ask me.”

“I have learned that, with Miss Jones, it is usually best not to enquire. Never mind, Simms – I’m confident that it was not your fault.”

Now freed, Georgie straightened her elf’s hat and hopped across to help with de-tinselling Simms. “Oi,” she said. “This is my uniform. You can’t stop a girl earning a quid or two to help her through the most expensive time of the year. And, besides, if I hadn’t been here, you’d never have known what Mr Lloyd was up to.”

“A strange fellow,” said Adam. “I am not entirely clear even now what it was the man was raving about as we fought.”

Simms ineffectually brushed tinsel from his jacket. “As I understand it, sir, he was formerly the owner of a corner shop and had taken against all supermarkets, department stores and the like as the scourge of modern life. I told him if that was his trouble, he should have had a go at Woollies first, not Harrods, but logic didn’t seem to be his strong point.”

“And anyway,” said Georgie, “we stopped him.” She paused, at that conclusion, and looked about the store with interest. “Hey, we just saved Harrods. I bet they’ll be grateful. Do you think they’ll give us any goodies?”

“More likely to fire you for making a mess of Santa’s Grotto,” said Simms.

Adam surveyed the wreck of the festive tableau. It was, he felt, somewhat tasteless, especially for Harrods. “Indeed. It seems only too probable. I suggest you stay and tidy while I inform the Home Office that shoppers may once again safely take to the streets, heaven help them all.”

“Hey,” he heard Georgie say as he marched away, “hey, wait, Mr Adamant!”

~o~

**Four**

“Ah, sir,” said Simms, when Adam walked into the living room. “We were beginning to wonder where you had got to. Miss Jones could only be prevented from coming after you by means of a plateful of muffins.”

Georgie protested, but with little success, given that she had only moments before stuffed half a muffin into her mouth.

“Well done, Simms,” Adam said, handing him his cape and cane. “I have just concluded a most baffling case quite satisfactorily – and mercifully without the help of Miss Jones!”

Georgie had disposed of her mouthful of muffin and was at liberty to speak once more. “Yes, but something must have happened – you promised Simms you’d be back by lunch time and it’s almost five now. Did someone nobble you? Was it that Alice Harley? I told you she was up to no good.”

“Mrs Harley was, I am sure, merely another victim of the rogue who set this business in motion – quite as much as I or any of those four young men who seemed to be the true target of the gang’s evil endeavours.”

Georgie, who had taken another large bite of buttered muffin, swallowed it whole and stared. “Four young men? Mr Adamant –”

“Yes,” Adam continued. “When I came to, I found myself in a cellar, chained to the piping along with the said young gentlemen while the water rose at an alarming rate around us. They were musicians of some kind, I believe and, judging by their accents, from the north of the kingdom.”

Simms blinked.

“It couldn’t be,” said Georgie, somewhat obscurely, Adam felt. “I mean, it just _couldn’t_.”

“There was,” Simms said, “some article in the paper this morning –”

Georgie turned back to Adam. “Well, go on? How did you get out?” Her eyes widened in alarm. “You _did_ all get out, didn’t you?”

“By dint of much effort, I managed to pull that section of the piping free and once at relative liberty, I turned off the water. I then freed myself by applying my tie pin to the lock of my handcuffs and did the same for the unfortunate quartet before I left in search of Mrs Harley and that devilish rogue, Uglow. You know, I really am at a loss to know what they intended to accomplish with a group of performers, rather than, say, one of our foremost politicians –”

“Yes, but did you ask them their names?”

“Their names?”

“Adam!” said Georgie in tones of despair.

“I do not understand why it is of such importance,” said Adam, “but I believe one of them called the other John. And I think there was a Philip, or Paul? I am afraid I was not paying full attention to such matters – our time together was short and somewhat fraught with peril.”

Simms gave a meaningful cough. “Er, were the other two by any chance called George and Ringo?”

“You know,” said Adam, after some thought, “I believe you are right. How clever of you to guess!” 

He was about to ask Simms as to what the significance of this could possibly be when he was distracted by the inexplicable behaviour of Miss Jones, who fell back against the sofa while waving her arms and legs about and squeaking incoherently. He tensed, concerned that she might be choking on another unwise and unladylike bite of muffin, but she seemed to still be breathing. It was, for a wonder, talking that seemed to be the problem.

“They’re quite well known,” Simms said by way of explanation. “If you’re into that sort of thing. If it wasn’t a set of impostors, you could have made your fortune by asking for a signed thank you note.”

Adam looked from Simms to Miss Jones in bewilderment. “You must forgive me. I seem, for the second time today, to be entirely in the dark.”

“Oh, _Mr Adamant_ ,” said Georgie with immense pity for his centenarian ignorance.

~o~

**Five**

“I regret to say, sir, but before she shuffled off this mortal coil, Dr Gregory went so far as to swallow the key. She didn’t seem too happy about the fact that you had won and she had lost.”

“Oh, no,” said Georgie, sitting next to Adam on the sofa, an unavoidable position, since she was currently handcuffed to him.

“Do not be downcast, Miss Jones. It is an unpleasant business, but Simms will merely have to alert the doctor responsible for the autopsy and we must both be patient a little while longer.”

Simms gave a cough.

“Simms?”

“Well, sir, after Dr Gregory swallowed the key, she then threw herself off the cliff. The body has not yet been recovered. As I said, a sore loser.”

Adam and Georgie exchanged a look.

“You mean we’re stuck like this?” said Georgie before Simms could launch into a limerick by way of epitaph for their late enemy. “I mean, this metal of hers is supposed to be unbreakable. And going by the luck we’ve had trying to file them off, she wasn’t wrong.”

“Never fear, Miss Jones, I shall find a means of extricating us!”

Georgie sighed and sagged back into the sofa. “Yes, but how long is that going to take and what are we going to do in the meantime? As it is, I could really use the bathroom and that’s not going to be –”

“Miss Jones!” Adam turned pale with horror, and then tugged at his collar. “Yes, ah, I do see your point. However, I believe I may have the solution. Simms, you recall our last case - at Whittaker’s chemicals? I believe Lady Whittaker may be able to help us out. Try obtaining some acid from them.”

Georgie wrinkled her nose. “That sounds a bit risky.”

“Needs must, however. Simms, please contact Whittaker’s at once. Ask them for the EY56 prototype. No, I think rather you will need to make arrangements for us to go down there – unless they have solved their problems with transporting the substance since last we met.”

As Simms hurried away to the telephone, Georgie looked at Adam.

“I may yet manage to pick the lock,” said Adam more gently. “If you could remain perfectly still for the next five or ten minutes at least, I should certainly have a better chance of success.” He put a hand to her chin briefly and smiled at her. “Come, it isn’t like you to lose heart so soon.”

Georgie nodded and sagged back into the sofa, closing her eyes. “All right. I’ll be sitting here like a statue, I promise. Thanks, Adam.”

“Yes, well, we shall see,” he said. He was confident of getting them out of this by some means, but it seemed that he must despair on one front: no matter what he did, and regardless of the presence of physical bonds or otherwise, it seemed to be quite impossible to detach himself from Miss Jones. Even worse, he could not mind as much as he ought.

She opened one eye. “I told you Dr Gregory was behind it all, didn’t I? And I was right!”

“Yes, so it seems. Now, please, Miss Jones, for once in your life, will you _stay still_?”

**Author's Note:**

> Having come up with this idea late, I got around the issue of doing too much Oscar Wilde related research by instead abusing any appropriate quotes I could stuff into the section, for which I should probably apologise.


End file.
